Glass, Concrete, and Stone
by My Sharpie Is Green
Summary: Percy Weasley is finally where he wants to be, but it can be lonely on top... [TWOSHOT, NOW COMPLETE]
1. Chapter 1

Don't own Harry Potter. Kind of inspired by the song "Glass, Concrete, & Stone" by David Byrne (don't own anything related to that, either, except for In Good Company and it's soundtrack). I think Percy is a git…but a git with some hint of human very very deep down : ). How I imagine Percy's new life.

**.x. Glass, Concrete, and Stone .x.**

Percy groaned as the alarm clock went off next to him. It was still pitch black as he turned and squinted at the glowing analog letters: four A.M. He fumbled to turn it off and groped around the end table for his horn-rimmed glasses before rising and getting into the shower.

The towel still around his narrow waist, he stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself critically. Spraying a large blob of shaving cream into his hand, he spread it over his cheeks and chin, gliding over them with a razor until they were impeccably smooth. He dabbed on aftershave and combed his trademark Weasley mop. Not a hair was out of place as he slipped on a pair of navy blue robes. He paused as he caught sight of the Dark Mark that was burned into his forearm, but he quickly shook it off. He looked at his reflection in the mirror—apart from his hair, he was almost unrecognizable as a Weasley. He had finally achieved what he had always wanted, even if it was at a high price.

He strode haughtily to the fireplace, taking a fistful of Floo powder in his hand. The flames burst into a brilliant shade of emerald green and he stepped into them.

"The Ministry of Magic Atrium!" he said clearly.

He held his elbows in close to his body as he felt himself spinning. Had he opened his eyes, he would have seen glimpses of different wizarding residences, but he had had too much experience with this method of travel to do that. At long last he stopped and stepped into the Atrium. Wizards milled about. He recognized some, and others were strangers to him, but there was one blonde witch in particular he knew well….

"Percy!" she called. He turned around, and she came up to him, smiling coyly. Penelope Clearwater.

"Hello, Penny," he said nervously—she had pressed herself up against him.

"Dinner at my house tonight at seven, Weasley," she whispered seductively into his ear. "And afterwards, maybe we could have some…_dessert_." She nipped at his ear playfully before walking away without another word.

As he headed to his office, he caught sight of his father speaking to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Probably something to do with the ridiculous Order of the Phoenix. He looked away quickly as his father saw him staring, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he wondered what he would say if he ever learned his son was a Death Eater. However, the twinge of guilt he felt for leaving was worse…

"'Morning, Weasley," Fudge said distractedly as he entered the office and took a seat at his desk.

"Good morning, sir."

**.xx.**

He walked home from work that day—he felt like thinking a bit. As he reached his house, he stared up at it. It was modern, showy, and trendy, but it wasn't home. It wasn't the Burrow. It was just glass, concrete, and stone…

**.xx.**

"Hello, Percy," Penny greeted him.

"Hello."

She stepped aside, letting him enter. He looked at her—her long blonde hair was down and she had changed out of her robes, revealing a black pencil skirt and blouse with heels.

"Do you want to take your robes off?" she asked, her hands reaching for them.

"Ah, no, I'm fine, thank you," he said nervously, stepping back. His eyes darted unconsciously to the spot where he knew the Mark was.

"Oh, alright," she said. "Nice to see you, Percy."

"It's nice to see you too—" He was caught off guard as she leaned up and began to kiss him passionately. She led him over to the couch and tried to take off his robes again.

"Penny," he said.

"Hmmm?"

"I'd rather not take them off, thank you."

"Why not? They can't be comfortable."

"They're fine, Penny," he said, irritated.

She reached for her wand and he grabbed her wrist. Her eyes grew wide.

"What now?" he asked bitterly. He followed her gaze—the fabric of his robe had fallen down, revealing his Mark. She let out a shriek. Before he realized what he was doing, he had whipped out his wand and uttered the most unforgivable curse in the world.

**.xx.**

Rufus Scrimgeour was looking at him as though he was the vilest piece of scum on the earth, and Percy Weasley would have to agree with him.

"Sir?" he asked.

The Minister of Magic didn't say a word.

"I…I've confessed, sir, and I was wondering if, before you gave me to the dementors, I could ask one last favor of you, sir."

"And what would that be, Weasley?" he asked, his voice not concealing his disgust.

"I was wondering…if perhaps I could speak to my father?"

Scrimgeour blinked. "I suppose." He turned to Fudge, who was standing by. "Go get Arthur, would you?"

"Yes, sir," he said and disapparated.

Scrimgeour continued to look at Percy, but he had stopped paying attention to him. He had always wanted to work here, at the Ministry. These past years, it had almost been his home. But it wasn't the Burrow. It was just glass, concrete, and stone…


	2. Chapter 2

Yep, I said it was a oneshot, but so many of you people wanted a continuation that I caved. So here it is, the longer second chapter, but it won't extend past this—I think I've tied up every loose end with Percy that I've got. If you like this, though, you should click the little link that says 'My Sharpie Is Green' and look at some of my other stories. Don't own HP.

**.x. Glass, Concrete, and Stone .x.**

_3 August, 1995_

Percy Weasley pushed his horn-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes in the dim light. Scrimgeour had told him to go home hours ago, but Percy had politely refused—how would he advance in his career if he didn't put in the hours?

"Good evening, Weasley," a cold, familiar voice interrupted. Percy glanced up and was greeted by the haughty face of Lucius Malfoy.

"Good evening," he replied shortly—he desperately needed to finish this report.

'I hear that you've separated yourself from your family. A wise decision—you'd never advance in your career with your failure of a father's legacy besmudgeoning your name. He would always have hindered your success."

"Can I help you, sir?"

Malfoy reached out and grasped the book lying in the corner of Percy's immaculate desk, _Prefects Who Gained Power._ Percy looked at it, suddenly thinking of his most admired prefects in the tome.

"Good book, Weasley," Lucius lied. "Your old boss, Crouch, was in here, wasn't he? Yes, very admirable man. He was a respectable man to aspire after. You've got your priorities straight."

Percy looked down at the report he was working on and up again. "Thank you, sir." 

"But you see, they were all stopped, these powerful men you attach yourself to. Crouch. Fudge. All of these men could have met their great potential had they not denied one thing—the immense power of the greatest Head Boy to ever live."

Wide-eyed, Percy allowed himself to be lulled into a world he had been taught to loathe by Malfoy's enticing words. He allowed himself to be led into the service of a man he had been raised to hate, and signed a magical contract that he would live to regret…

**.xx.**

Two years later, Arthur Weasley was awoken by a loud, unexpected knock on his bedroom door at two-thirty in the morning. He felt his wife stirring beside him, but put a hand on her shoulder to still her.

"Go back to sleep, Mollywobbles," he whispered as he got out of bed, "it's probably just Ginny…"

Stepping gingerly on legs that had not supported his weight for hours, he made his way to the door and gently opened it. "Ginny, dear, what—Fudge/"

A rather unkempt-looking Cornelius Fudge was indeed standing in the hallway outside of Arthur's bedroom door in pinstripe trousers, wringing his lime green bowler in his hands.

"Er, is there any particular reason you're standing in my house, uninvited, at this hour?" Arthur asked, racking his brain to see if there was any plausible reason for the intrusion.

"Well, I tried contacting you through the Floo network and knocking at the front door first, of course. I need you to come to the Ministry with me."

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples as he fought a yawn. "Cornelius, I have come in early and left late; I have given up meals and chased the likes of Willy Widdershins around the country for the Ministry. But two-thirty is much too late or too early, whichever way you prefer."

Fudge's nervous fidgeting increased. "Yes, well, I understand that, Arthur, but Scrimgeour asked me to get you personally, and I think that it would be rather in your best interests to come along…"

Arthur looked at him wearily. "What you're saying is that I don't have a choice?"

"Ah, well, not exactly, see, I—"

"Just…let me get dressed…"

**.xx.**

Percy felt as though the steady quiet ticking of the clock on the wall would drive him mad soon. He was now holding a picture of the Weasleys that he had stored at the bottom of a desk drawer when he had first declared freedom from the family. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he looked at his brothers and sister smiling up at him, waving and beaming as his mother blew him a kiss.

"Weasley," Scrimgeour said curtly; Percy's head snapped up as the door opened and Fudge led his father inside. Arthur's eyes flitted from Fudge to Scrimgeour to Percy to the picture in his hand; Percy registered the shock and fear that was evident in those eyes—eyes that mirrored his own. The last Christmas, Scrimgeour had once dragged Percy along to the Burrow to use as a decoy so that he could speak with Harry Potter, but Harry was nowhere near them now. The Minister was not one to take interest in the family relationships of employees, and Arthur knew that. However, whatever Arthur was imagining, Percy knew that the reality would be a hundred times worse.

"Is anyone planning on telling me why I'm here?" Arthur asked after a long silence.

"Your son, convicted of and confessed to his allegiance to the group of Dark wizards known as the Death Eaters, as well as the murder of one Penelope Clearwater earlier tonight. He requested conference with you before being subjected to the dementor's kiss."

At the look of horror in his father's eyes, the guilt and shame that had been bubbling in the pit of Percy's stomach grew to new heights. Scrimgeour and Fudge wordlessly left the room, leaving Percy's feelings to boil under his father's gaze.

After a long while, Arthur swallowed and said the only word that he could think of: "Why?"

"Dad, I—" Percy paused. He hadn't called his father that in more than two years. "I don't know why… l…I confessed, about everything. I turned myself in. I couldn't handle it anymore. I don't want to live with that." Percy felt hot tears stinging at his eyes, but he did not turn his head away to protect his pride, as he may have days before. The realization that this was the last time he would speak with his father was beginning to settle in.

Arthur looked down at his son—prefect, Head Boy, Junior Assistant to the Minister, Death Eater, and Weasley. Slowly, he put his hand over Percy's. "I forgive you."

The door opened, and Scrimgeour and Fudge reentered, this time accompanied by Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Tonks looked sympathetically at Arthur, as she was forced to carry Percy off.

"Give this to Mum," he said, pushing the tattered photograph into his father's hand as he was led away.

"Wait," Arthur called, and Tonks immediately stopped. Kingsley's obedience was slower, but he too halted. He looked into his son's eyes for what he knew would be the last time and enveloped him in a tight embrace. "Thank you," he whispered before Scrimgeour told the Aurors to move along. He stood there, alone in the nearly deserted Ministry, dressed in a pair of shabby robes, watching as his son was carried off, the dementor's kiss awaiting him.

**.xx.**

As the dementor entered the room that Percy had been placed in, he could feel its effects instantly. The room grew cold and Percy saw flashes of memories—the night Lucius recruited him, the day he left the Burrow, the look on his mother's face when she came to the apartment he had first moved into in London, Death Eater gatherings, the day that Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets…

The dementor's scabbed hands grabbed the neck of his robes; he could hear its breath rattling and smell its staleness…

He saw images of his house and the Ministry floating in his mind's eye. He may have spent time there in the past years, but they were not his home. Somewhere between the long days and late nights, he had forgotten that important fact. They weren't his home. They weren't the Burrow. They were just glass, concrete and stone…

**.xx.**

His hands shaking slightly, Arthur turned the photograph over. On it were five words, hastily written in Percy's usually neat hand:

_I love you_

_I'm sorry_


End file.
